WeissKreuz Sweet
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: White, squishy, slippery... what would Omi have to teach Yohji? What has Yohji done to make Aya lose it after a mission? Why is he on his knees for his lesson, and how on earth is he going to patch things up? Ken is suspicious...


**Sweet**

White and squishy... what would Omi have to teach Yohji of all people? What has Yohji done to make Aya lose it after a mission? Why is he on his knees for his lesson, and how on earth is he going to patch things up? Ken is suspicious...

**Disclaimer:** This story is not for profit, all rights with their current owners.  
**Warnings:** Don't think there are any spoilers in this one. The boys are foulmouthed. The chibis are knowledgeable... maybe too much so, according to Aya, who is ever so grown up about life, the universe, and everything else on his radar... except for Yohji.  
**Rating:** M for male/male affection and pretty clear references to sex. Don't look for graphic instructions though - you will be disappointed.  
**Pairs **(I would not call them couples):Aya/Yohji (destiny interrupted... again, and again, and...), Omi/Ken (definitely no innocents).

**  
Disclaimer, warnings and rating valid for all chapters of this story.**

Have fun, and if you liked it, drop me a line?  
Cheers.

LH

**xxx**

Ken had been injured in their latest shootout. Omi was fussing over him on the backseat of their getaway car. Yohji, whose driving skills Aya had loudly doubted, sat sulking on the passenger seat, window down, elbow out, letting the wind blow into his blond hair. He was buzzed, bored, in need of distraction from the stink of blood and gore on their mission clothes. All this amounting to Yohji badly craving a smoke.

But Aya was driving. Stonefaced.

Whatever. Yohji bent and knocked open the flap of the gloves compartment. He got lucky: an almost full packet of cheap cigarettes.

"Don't stink out the car," Aya snapped, without even looking.

Yohji leaned back, propped his knees against the dashboard, and with slow deliberation, flicked his lighter. A black frown appeared between Aya's brows, and his lips thinned into a hard white line.

"C'mon, Ayan, relax," Yohji goaded.

Aya pressed his foot down on the gas.

They were yanked back into their seats as he took off. Omi gasped, Ken yelped, Yohji stared ahead at bands of light dashing past and clawed into the seat whenever Aya swerved to overtake or jump into a gap in the dense evening rush hour traffic. "Ayan..."

Aya cut across a red traffic light. Behind them, they could hear the screeching of brakes and the bang and scrunch of crashing metal. On the backseat, Ken groaned in pain, clutching at his bleeding right shoulder.

"Fuck," Yohji swore under his breath, cigarette dangling almost forgotten from the corner of his mouth as he gritted his teeth. Omi held on to Ken and said nothing, heaving a tight sigh as he shot a disapproving glare at the rear view mirror. Aya kept staring straight ahead, eyes keen and hard, reflexes like lightning.

Yohji chewed on his cigarette that was beginning to smell because it had burned to ash, crumbled all over Yohji's front, and was now starting to melt the filter. "Cyclist," he said tersely, and Aya careened wildly not to run said cyclist over. "Lights," Yohji gasped, the singed filter finally dropping from his mouth. Aya hit the gas and dashed across a four lane crossing just as one set of lights was going to red and the next one not quite green yet.

Yohji cursed loudly now, frantically trying to flick bits of glowing ash off his clothes. Omi's eyes grew round, his face turned grey, and he gathered Ken a bit tighter to his stomach. Yohji bit his lip, managed to light another cigarette. He cast a glance at the mirror – Omi looked ill, Ken was about to pass out.

Yohji drew a sharp breath. "Aya."

Aya ignored him, racing along.

Yohji turned towards him. "Ayan!"

Aya overtook a lorry, forcing an oncoming vehicle to swerve to avoid ploughing into them, and cut back into lane into a narrow gap between two cars, pushing one of them back and riding up close to the other one, nearly bumping into its boot to a deafening protest honk from the lorry...

"Damn you." Yohji puffed a cloud of smoke against the windscreen and reached for the steering wheel...

And then Aya's eyes went wide, his mouth fell open, he jerked the wheel so that they all tumbled to one side, tyres skidding on wet tarmac, before he managed to bring the car under control again.

Yohji smiled around his cigarette. Suspiciously, Omi craned his neck, but all he saw in the mirror was Yohji's long, hard hand in a wire-sliced black glove, tightly holding the fresh cigarette, and his smile, along with the subtle shift of shoulder muscles under his coat.

Aya snapped his mouth shut even as his eyes narrowed again. He shot past a queue of cars and lorries even as another light was turning green, and dashed down the busy city highway. Yohji settled himself comfortably against the door, the hand with the cigarette propped on his drawn-up knee, the other one outstretched towards Aya.

Aya bit his lip. Hard. Omi could have sworn the purple gaze went watery, but he had half an eye on Ken who was fading towards unconsciousness from the loss of blood.

A fine sheen of sweat began to gloss Aya's forehead. Yohji skilfully blew smoke rings which the harsh breeze ripped to shreds. Omi suspected he had sustained some sort of injury too because he seemed to softly massage the leg that was angled towards Aya. They would have to sort this out, once and forever – Omi did not like the two elder ones playing at being heroes, keeping silent about pains and injuries until on the verge of collapse, and then he and Ken had to sort out the mess. Not now though, for Ken looked extremely unwell...

A strangled sound wrenched from Aya's throat and transformed into a brief nasal growl. Yohji's catlike eyes slid half-shut, his smile widened the slightest bit even as he shrouded his face in smoke. The traffic began to thin as they wound their way towards the docks. There they would dump the car and go their separate ways back to the flowershop.

Yet now, when he could have sped up some more, Aya slowed down... wobbled... shuddered... drove even slower... looking sick to his stomach, his face twisted, flecked with red...

"Aya, hurry now," Omi hassled him, worried that Aya might pass out before they reached their destination, "his pulse's all thready, I'm losing him... Yohji, do something!"

"Is alright, chibi, we're almost there," Yohji said before Aya could answer, and then they rumbled down a pot-holed track across a patch of wasteland, a shortcut between the road and the outer docks, a dark, dirty field. They would leave Ken at one of the old warehouses that harboured an underground clinic to cater for just this kind of emergency.

When the car crashed up a low embankment onto a concrete service road that ran between the warehouses, Omi could have sworn Aya's face was flushed, his lips raw, and his gaze glazed as though he was about to black out. So he was hurt too – he and Yohji were so unreasonable, well, complete idiots sometimes... alright my ass, Omi grouched silently. He shook his head and laced his thin hands through Ken's hair. Ken managed to drag open his eyes and gave him a weak smile. Omi smiled back, trying not to let his worries show.

And then they finally clattered to a halt in the darkness between two buildings, and the car had not stopped shuddering yet when Aya gave a choked cry and collapsed over the steering wheel.

"Aya-kun!" Omi yelled in shock and anger.

"Shush," Yohji said, his voice calm in the murky blackness.

"Yohji, how CAN you be so-"

Aya groaned throatily. Yohji's outstretched arm came up to grope for Omi and press his arm in a reassuring grip. "He is fine, Omitchi."

Omi heard the smile in his voice. A broad, satisfied, slightly lazy grin, to be precise. Omi could see it in his mind and paused to wonder when Yohji would wear such an expression... his breath hitching when he realised. "YOU!"

"What? It got him to slow down, now didn't it?" Yohji protested, feigning innocence. A lighter snapped, the tiny flame casting a fleeting golden shine over Yohji's face, making his eyes light up and sparkle.

"That's disgusting, Yohji!"

"He enjoyed it. Didn't you, Ayan?" Yohji waved the lighter in front of Aya's face, that was still flushed and sweaty... purple eyes blazing ferally from beneath messy crimson bangs...

"You bastard ruined my trousers," came the sharp, breathy retort.

The lighter dropped; Yohji was out of the car in a flash, getting frantically busy to haul Ken up and away towards the warehouse with the clinic. In the sudden and total darkness, Aya was wildly groping for his katana – he could have sworn he had placed it neatly under his seat.

Omi silently sat on it.

**xxx**

"You're outta your mind, Ayan!" Yohji yelled, but Aya slammed the door to his room into Yohji's face.

"Stay out," he commanded curtly.

"All I did was getting you off, and you won't let me sleep-"

"You were distracting me, causing a case of dangerous driving."

"I – WHAT?"

"You heard me."

"But-"

"Get. Lost."

Yohji tried to turn the door knob. It refused to yield. He whipped around when he heard soft steps, and met Omi's knowing, glittering gaze. Omi smiled a little. Ken was recovering well, and even though the chibi had dark bags under his eyes, he seemed a lot happier than a few days ago after the mission.

Yohji looked lost, angry and offended. "He... I mean... arghh..." He huffed and made to stomp towards his own room.

"Yo, Yohji," Omi said, snagging his arm, "come, let me show you something."

Stiffening defensively, Yohji opened his mouth to ask what it was, but shut it when Omi just placed a finger over his lips, and let the chibi drag him into the kitchen.

**xxx**

"No-no-no," Omi said in exasperation, "that's so gross, yuck." He shuddered. "You're doing it wrong – you slobber, Yohji."

Yohji, in blue briefs and an unbuttoned, ivory coloured shirt with long sleeves, swallowed hard. His adam's apple bobbed a couple of times, before he pulled a face and got up from where he was kneeling in front of Omi, snug in one of Ken's tracksuits and sitting on his chair by the kitchen table.

"Yeah, disgusting," he assented, filling the kettle, "how can you possibly bring yourselves to swallow this stuff? Me, I need some caffeine now."

Omi shot him a glare. "I like it," he said sulkily, a tiny trail of drool tracking down from the corner of his mouth. "So does Ken. And Aya of course, not that I'd care." With thin, white-dusted fingers, he neatly folded a small, empty cellophane wrapper. "But of course, if you don't want to learn it, we'll just call it a day."

The kettle boiled. Yohji spooned ground coffee into one mug and dumped a teabag into the other, then filled them up. He took the steaming drinks to the table and set the tea before Omi.

"Okay then," he said peacably, "I don't wanna upset you. Will you show me again?"

Omi pushed out his lower lip, then he sniffed the tea, took a cautious sip from the egde, and leaned back in his chair. "Where's the other packet?"

Yohji sighed, then smiled and ran his hand through his shaggy hair. "My jacket pocket. They'll be fresher than the last ones 'cos I bought them this morning with the papers."

Omi's face brightened. "Oh, good! Which ones did you get?"

"Red bean paste," Yohji grunted, slightly pained even though he still smiled bravely.

Propping his spread knees against the edge of the table, the mug with tea in his hands, Omi closed his eyes. "Hmmm..."

Yohji laughed and lit a cigarette.

**xxx**

"You will get them, if you let me in," Yohji said, cheek and ear pressed against Aya's door.

"Stuff you," came the unkind response.

"Yeah, that too, but first... Oh c'mon, don't be silly, Aya, look, I'm sorry..."

The door flew open, and to Yohji's bafflement, Aya – in nothing but a loosely held grey yukata – stepped aside to let him enter the room.

Yohji wasted no time.

"Give them to me," Aya demanded, kicking the door shut even as he turned and stretched out his unoccupied hand. "Now."

"My, my," Yohji said, retreating towards the window, his hands behind his back, "aren't we eager."

Aya wore the blackest scowl Yohji had ever seen on his pale face. "You made a promise. I may be an idiot to trust anything you say, but I did on this occasion, and if you prove me wrong, I'll shred you."

"Wow, a speech," Yohji prodded, smiling softly. "You must so need it, Ayan."

"Yoh-"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Yohji said, propping his bum against the windowsill. The futon lay between him and Aya, who looked like a handsome crimson thunder cloud. Yohji held up a cellophane wrapped packet, no larger than the palm of his hand. "Here, see? I didn't lie."

Aya took one instinctive step towards Yohji, who let the packet dangle between his fingertips. "Hmmm," he said, green eyes laughing but not mocking, "tasty... all red 'n white and so damn tender."

"YOHJI!" Aya hissed, one fist clenching in the fabric of his untied yukata, the other one by his side – it occurred to Yohji that Aya missed his katana, and that he still owed his thanks to the chibi for hiding the damn slicer the other night, when Aya had nearly killed them all with his driving.

"Yeah?" Yohji slowly tore open the shiny, rustling wrapper.

Aya began to flush pale pink and attempted to nail Yohji with a glare, but Yohji held his gaze and licked his lips, in this slow, sensuous way that never failed to get to Aya, and now he felt it roiling around his guts...

Yohji's eyes slid half-shut as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue.

Aya swallowed a gasp, his free hand instinctively slipping towards his groin to primly conceal the growing bulge.

With thumb and forefinger, Yohji picked up a small, round, squishy white object and placed it flat onto his tongue with deliberate slowness. "...hum here," he mumbled, hiding the packet behind his back again, "ih you want one, lovah..."

Aya growled. "How stupid can you get, Yotan?"

Yohji winked at him and continued to hold out his tongue. Aya suspected that the slight tremors running through Yohji's lanky body were laughter. It annoyed him no end, but...

He drew a deep, determined breath and crossed the room, stepped over the futon, and leaned in to Yohji, his fists between their bodies. "I get the rest of the packet if I do this?"

Yohji nodded, wedged between Aya's groin and the windowsill, Aya's fists pressing into his stomach. He nearly lost it when Aya gave a small thrust and a sudden, rather wicked smile. "Fine." And without further ado, he grabbed Yohji's hips to hold him still, and sucked Yohji's tongue into his mouth.

Slippery, chewy, sweet...  
Aya's groin pressing hard into Yohji's loins.

Aya broke the kiss and ate his mochi.

Yohji watched, the smile on his faceslightly heatedas he spread his arms, the packet in one hand. "Thinking about it," he began, raising both arms over his head, but Aya lunged and snatched the packet off him.

"Don't," Aya snapped, "they're mine now."

Arms still up in the air, Yohji shook his head. "You'll get a stomach upset if you eat them all."

"My business." Aya's hands slid down Yohji's arms...

"Quite... hah..."

...lingered on his flanks...

Yohji breathed harder. "Hmm... hey," hemurmured huskily, "know... what?"

Aya glowered, his hands back on Yohji's hips. "What?"

Yohji bit his lip. "Inside my shirt... waistband... sugar... shapes..."

Aya followed the described path with his hands. Hot, small, sword-hardened hands rubbing up Yohji's ribs, dipping into his shirt, parting the fabric to grate satisfyingly over his chest and belly... to retrieve a small paper bag with said shapes.

"Anything else?" Aya demanded, clutching the bag in one hand, the other one still keeping a firm hold on Yohji. Which meant that his yukata began to slip.

Yohji leaned forward, put his lips to Aya's ear and whispered...

**xxx**

"It worked," Ken said, somewhat uneasy, and Omi cast a quick glance at the ceiling of the kitchen.

"Do they know just HOW THIN these damn walls are?" Ken grouched, wincing as another stab of pain lanced down his arm that was placed neatly into a sling.

"Do you?" Omi countered, soft and sly.

Ken grew beet-red. Omi's smile was broad and innocent, his eyes glittered with the slightest hint of greed. "I'd say you need your rest," he said sweetly. "I'll tuck you in if you like."

Ken groaned quietly. "Yeah,how about a massage-" A strangled sound from upstairs cut him short, and suddenly he looked flustered. "Bed, Omitchi. Quick please?"

"Aa." Omi rose and helped Ken to shove back his chair as he got up as well. "Any way you like." Hepaused a moment to savour Ken's half-shocked, half-pleasedgaze, beforeadding, "It's just..."

Ken regarded him with concern in hazel eyes. "What, chibi?"

Omi sighed. "They ate ALL my mochi."

"You taught Yotan too well."

This time, Omi blushed and began to shove Ken out of the kitchen. Half-way up the stairs, Ken stalled. "Hey... wait a minute... you taught him – what exactly did that entail, Omitchi?"

"Oh..." The blush deepened, and then Omi burst out, "Let's just go, and I'll explain it all to you."

**xxx**

"Do you hear that?" Aya said with indignation, fidgeting uneasily beneath the blanket.

Yohji, his arm wrapped comfortably around Aya's shoulders, mumbled assent.

"They are too young for that," Aya went on, coyly tugging the blanket up over Yohji's chest.

Yohji suppressed a groan and covered his face with his free hand.

"Yohji, do something," said Aya, beginning to tense and strain. "I can't move properly; I hurt."

"I'm sorry; but if you'd let me do this more often-"

Aya stiffened. "My knee is close to your jewels."

"Okay, I AM sorry. Really. But later, Ayan? Like, in the morning?"

"It IS morning."

Yohji lifted hisarm away from his face and scrutinised his glow-in-the-dark watch. "Three thirty – man, Ayan, c'mon now..."

"Fine, I will do it myself." Aya was trying to get up in earnest.

Yohji caught his elbow, dragged him back down, and bit his ear. "Hey, how about another mochi?"

And before Aya's brain could tell him that this was probably an awfully cheap way to let himself be manipulated, his lips already parted and let Yohji place another sweet rice cake onto his tongue...

**xxx**

THE END


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